


A Little Sugar

by taylor_tut



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Diabetes, Gen, Hypoglycemia, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Seizures, Sick Character, Sick Lance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Damn Taylor, back at it again with the lame titlesA request for diabetic Lance!





	A Little Sugar

The first time Lance emerged from the healing pod, it took him a full minute to notice the difference. He’d been distracted by Hunk’s hugs and Shiro’s worry and Pidge’s and Keith’s “welcome back, man,”s that he let himself be wrapped up in the attention. 

When he finally noticed, his jaw dropped. Lance stared at his hand in wide-eyed amazement, flexing and curling his fingers, mesmerized. 

“Is he… okay?” Pidge asked.

“Maybe the healing pod melted his brain,” Keith suggested, half-jokingly. 

“Lance,” Shiro barked, and the blue paladin startled. 

“Oh, sorry,” he apologized, “I was distracted.”

“By your hand?” Hunk asked skeptically.

“Uh, sort of? I just… I didn’t expect the healing pod to take away the nerve damage. It’s kind of weird.”

“Nerve damage?” Keith echoed.

“Yeah,” Lance shrugged him off, “I’m diabetic, have been since I was a kid. I’ve had nerve pain in my hand for years, and I just realized that it’s gone.”

“Your hand has been in constant pain for years?” Pidge questioned. “How did you never tell us about it?”

“I don’t know; I’m used to it,” Lance shrugged.

“You’re diabetic?” Shiro sounded concerned.

“It’s not a big deal,” Lance waved him off, “It’s well-controlled and doesn’t really ever cause me any issues other than occasional dizzy spell, but all I need to do is take a shot or eat something and I’m good. Allura and Coran made me a special juice for when my blood sugar dips.”

“That’s what that is?” Pidge stuck her tongue out, “No wonder it was so sweet.” 

“Why would you drink it?! It has my name on it!” Lance fought.

So, for a while, the paladins were extra cautious about Lance’s health. Shiro made everyone carry energy bars in their Lions, Hunk made him test his blood sugar way too often, Pidge tried to make something that might help his pancreas produce insulin, and Keith never let him wander out of sight. (” _I’m just going to the bathroom, Keith; can I do that alone, or would you like to hold my hand?!”_ )

But the newness wore off after a few weeks. Things went back to normal, more or less. 

And, of course, other things took precedence. Like the Galra attack, for instance. Yeah, that was a pretty big fucking issue, and Lance’s blood sugar could take a back burner.

That’s how Lance ended up here–creeping through an air conditioning duct with Galra below them. Lance’s hands shook as he aimed his gun at a soldier and took them out, allowing the rest of the team to drop down into the empty room.

“We’ve got to get Pidge to the control room,” Shiro explained. “Lance, you stay up there in the AC. You can take out Galran soldiers with your gun so that the rest of us have a clear path. Hunk, Keith, and I will protect Pidge from down here while she hacks the controls. Everyone got it?”

The team nodded; Lance, sluggishly. He’d known that the decision to skip breakfast might mess with his blood sugar, but Shiro gave them a day off morning training only once in a blue moon, and he’d wanted to sleep in. And then he’d woken up to blaring alarms. 

Lance crept through the duct alone. Shiro was below him, taking out soldiers almost as fast… twice as fast? half as fast… It was hard to tell when his vision kept doubling. 

“Lance, focus!” Shiro barked angrily as a soldier very nearly stabbed him in the back after Lance had missed twice in succession. 

He thought he could do it, really he did, but now everything was fuzzy and swirling, and he was really, really concerned that he might shoot one of his friends.

“Shiro,” Lance breathed out, “I’m not–”

A solider grabbed at Pidge. They had her arm, and Lance cut himself off to shoot. He only let himself breathe again once the soldier dropped and Pidge was left very much standing.

“Thanks,” she called, “But the idea is to shoot them _before_  they grab me.”

They had to be close to the control room, Lance hoped and prayed to whatever was out there at the edge of the universe that they were close. He’d only been this bad one other time, and that was in his early teens, when he’d went through a rebellious phase and decided that taking his insulin every day made him too different and he could mind-over-matter his diabetes, and ended up in the ER after collapsing at school.

He knew that this was beyond “candy bar and a nap” hypoglycemia. This was bad. And that thought was the last one he had before everything went black.

“Lance, you need to start shooting!” Shiro bellowed. Lance didn’t reply.

“What’s going on?” Hunk called. “Lance, are you still there?”

“Do you think a soldier found him?” Keith asked, taking out the last soldier that stood in the way of the control room. 

“Lance, answer me if you can hear us,” Shiro called, and they all went quiet. In the silence, the only reply they got was a gentle shaking sound coming from the air vent.

“…Lance?” Shiro tried. 

“Oh my God,” Hunk realized out loud, “Shiro, we need to get him. He’s having a seizure.” 

“How can you tell?” Keith asked frantically.

“Think about it; he’s been quiet and slow for the past hour; the signs were all there. His blood sugar must have bottomed.”

“He skipped breakfast,” Pidge remembered.

“I’ll go get him,” Hunk reassured, “You stay here and hack the ship.” Hunk sprinted off toward his best friend. 

Hunk had never crawled faster in his whole life. There had never been a reason to, he supposed, but still, it was a first. When he finally got to Lance, his heart jumped into his throat. 

“Lance,” he breathed. Lance looked terrible. He was sweating and utterly still, and he’d clearly been sick. Hunk scooped him up in his arms. 

“Hunk, you’ve got him?” Shiro called through the vent.

“Yeah, I’ve got him,” Hunk fretted. “He’s passed out. I’m taking him back to the Yellow Lion. I’m going to try to get him to wake up to drink some juice, but I might have to take him back to the castle for IV glucose.”

“Whatever you’ve got to do; don’t worry about us,” Shiro informed.

“I’m almost done,” Pidge offered, “And then we’ll be out of here, too. We’ll meet you guys at the castle.”

It was difficult to maneuver Lance through the AC duct. Hunk ended up carrying him on his back like a horse, something Lance would surely find endlessly hilarious when he woke up, but that made it infinitely more worrying that he was so silent.

Once they got to the Yellow Lion, Hunk tried everything he could think of to rouse Lance. He shook his shoulders, called his name… But what finally woke him was when Hunk spat a mouthful of water in his face. 

It wasn’t a dramatic waking. Really, if anything, it was more of a small sign that Lance was still alive than it was consciousness. But it was enough for Hunk.

“Lance, I need you to do something for me,” he called desperately. Lance couldn’t even open his eyes, but his fingers twitched in acknowledgement. He’d do anything for Hunk.

“Wake up so you can drink this,” Hunk pleaded. Lance was cradled against his shoulder, propped up limply. Hunk pressed the straw to Lance’s lips in the hopes that the most infantile of instincts would kick in, and he got lucky. Lance managed to take a few sips of the bright green beverage, and after those first few nearly-unconscious gulps were down, he started to become more alert with each sip.

“Hunk,” he rasped, his throat tight and voice rough from the seizure and vomiting, “Where–”

“Hey, finish this first,” Hunk instructed. “We’re in the Yellow Lion. Your blood sugar dipped really badly. Do you remember anything?” 

“Pidge–”

“She’s got Shiro and Keith,” Hunk soothed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Lance looked troubled, so Hunk just patted his head. “It’s okay; you can explain it later. Just relax.”

Lance let his eyes slip closed again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be. I just wish you’d tell us when you need something. You’re important to the team, Lance; you matter. We want to know when you’re not feeling well.”

Maybe it was exhaustion, or the lack of glucose, or the sheer fact that his best friend in the world was saying such nice things to him, but Lance felt his eyes well up with tears. He buried his face in Hunk’s shoulder. 

“You okay?” Hunk asked.

“My head hurts,” Lance confessed. Hunk pulled him in close and stroked his hair, feeling him relax into his touch.

“There’s a healing pod with your name on it in the castle,” Hunk reassured, “Just hang in there a little longer. You’re really, _really_ good at that.”

Lance smiled. He was _awesome_  at that.


End file.
